


Marvel Prompts

by agentsofpuppies



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentsofpuppies/pseuds/agentsofpuppies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People send me prompts on Tumblr. I write them and post them here. A variety of ships and ratings, if you're looking for the Clintasha prompts, those have their own story called 'Snippets'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve/Nat Prompt: Flashing

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten enough not-Clintasha prompts that I'm giving them their own place here. Right now just two Steve/Natasha ones, but there's Thor/Jane and Clint/Coulson on my list to write. 
> 
> Up first, from the nsfw prompt list: #18, flashing the other.

“Damn it,” Steve muttered as the last drone exploded - point for Romanoff - but he couldn’t really be angry. The training exercise had been his idea, after all. Making sure every Avenger could pilot the Quinjets and accurately man the weapon systems on board had seemed prudent. He’d all but begged Natasha to call up Barton and drag him out of retirement to give lessons.  

And now he regretted it _very much_. 

“Three outta five?” Barton suggested in his ear, Natasha’s gleeful laughter filtering over the comms as well. Strike Team Delta was unbeatable. He and Sam couldn’t seem to get the communication between pilot and gunman figured out; Sam kept firing at the target drones a moment too soon or too late, and Steve couldn’t hold the jet steady long enough for him to correct. 

The other Quinjet drifted along beside them, but Steve kept his eyes firmly on the airspace ahead. After the first round Natasha had given him her best Black Widow smirk, the one that said she was ready to tear him apart, in a friendly way of course. After the second round she’d flipped him the middle finger as Barton zipped past. He didn’t want to know what she’d throw at him this time.

If there was anything that was going to put the brakes on their slowly-developing _whatever_ , it was Natasha’s competitive streak. This Natasha was a world away from the one who let him kiss her on the sofa after movie nights. Last night he’d even put his arm around her, right in front of the whole team, and she hadn’t found an excuse to get up and leave the room like usual when he attempted gestures like that. 

Maybe today was punishment. 

“Aw, man,” Sam groaned beside him, disgust and dismay coloring the words.

“Come on, Nat,” Barton said in his ear, mirroring Sam’s tone, and that caught his attention. 

He steeled himself, then chanced a small glance to the left. 

Natasha was _mooning_ them, sweats tugged down and her naked ass pressed against the Quinjet’s side window as she balanced on her half of the consoles.

“Romanoff, this is a serious mission simulation.”  

He tried, _really tried_ , to put on his best no-nonsense Captain America voice, but the amusement and annoyance leaked through. He found himself staring a moment too long, then two moments, then he found himself wishing they could move past arms-around-shoulders and kissing in common areas, then-

“Eyes on the road, Cap!” Barton admonished, and the Quinjet veered sharply away and Natasha yelped in his ear and fell out of sight. “Nat, if your ass touches one more surface in this Quinjet, I swear to God-”  

Steve corrected his flight path and tore the comm unit from his ear, studiously avoiding the raised-eyebrow expression Sam was shooting him. Definitely punishment.


	2. Steve/Nat Prompt: Private Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Steve/Natasha, another one from the nsfw list. 
> 
> Prompt: one person having some “private time” and the other accidentally walking in. Additional request: Steve having a little secret crush on Natasha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Natasha banged her knuckles once on the door and pushed into Steve’s room, still analyzing the last round of skill evaluations on her tablet.

“Sam and Rhodey think we should step up the-”

She came up short, blinked stupidly, and nearly dropped the tablet. The last thing she had expected to find was Steve Rogers sitting naked on the edge of his bed, dick in hand. The door hadn’t been locked.

Steve made a strangled noise and tugged the duvet over his lap.

If it was Clint, she’d immediately shout the most erection-wilting mental image she could think of (Sitwell in a g-string was particularly effective) and run like hell. They’d barged in on each other so many times it wasn’t even awkward anymore. Clint and Laura together was a little more nuanced, a quick ‘I’m taking the kids for ice cream’ because they deserved the extra time together.

But Steve….

'Well this is awkward,’ an echo from the Lumerian Star. Old man Viagra joke. Lewd rap lyrics, a reference he most definitely wouldn’t get.

The woman on the television gave a particularly exaggerated moan. There was her angle.

“Are you watching pay-per-view?” she demanded. “You _pay_ for porn? Of course you do, you’re Captain America.”

Steve opened his mouth, but only gaped at her.

She did a theatrical eye roll and strode into the room, lifting Steve’s laptop from the desk near the door. Retreat was weakness, and she didn’t do embarrassment. She dropped down to sit on the bed beside him and flipped the laptop open.

“Look, I’ll show you how to get the free stuff. Nobody pays for porn, Rogers.”

“Natasha.” He said her name with a hard edge to his tone, firmly pushing the laptop closed. His eyes had gone a cold shade of blue. “You need to leave.”

What had she expected, really? Steve to swear and pull on a pair of boxers and wallop her with bed pillows for interrupting his moment? Steve was team leader, not her partner.

_Inappropriate._

The word echoed in her head, Steve’s voice, and she actually felt a little chastised.

“Sorry, Cap. Didn’t realize you were still in the mood. Don’t let me interrupt.”

She forced a smirk and strode from the room, maybe just a tiny bit embarrassed.

….

“Natasha.”

And here was the other shoe dropping.

She looked up from her coffee to find Steve standing in the middle of the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.

“We need to talk. Outside.”

Wanda threw her a curious look across the table, and a moment later the girl’s voice echoed in her head: _Are you in trouble?_

“Practice that one on someone else,” she warned, and gave Wanda her best Black Widow glare. She didn’t mind playing target for the energy blasts, but the telepathy was too intimate, dragged her a step back toward the dark place.

Sam gave a resigned sigh as she rose from the table and followed after Steve, and she knew he was gearing up to give Wanda another lecture on respecting personal boundaries. A lecture she might do well to hear, too, if the firm set of Steve’s shoulders was any indication.

Steve led her across the grounds to the paved running track, well away from the main compound, and Natasha resolved to keep her mouth shut and not make any smart remarks this time. They walked almost a full mile in silence, side-by-side.

“I wanted to apologize,” Steve said at last. He pulled up short and tugged her wrist to make her stop as well. “For last night. I shouldn’t have…with the door unlocked.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she assured him, and felt a flicker of annoyance. He’d dragged her out here, sans coffee, for a conversation they could have had at the kitchen table.

“Well,” Steve began, and smiled a little, “that’s not how I wanted…. I mean, I wanted to take you out first, dinner somewhere nice, flowers, girls still like that sort of thing, right? We’re not supposed to be naked until the third date, according to Tony, but he doesn’t follow his own rules so-”

“Are you asking me on a date because I saw you naked?” she asked, effectively cutting off his rambling. “Is this some weird chivalry thing?”

“No, it’s not a weird chivalry thing,” Steve retorted, and threw her an expression half annoyed and half desperate. “Its…you’re the only person you never tried to set me up with.”

God, the earnest Steve thing. The puppy eyes, the unabashed honesty, dumb little half-grin.

Natasha didn’t date teammates. She didn’t date period, because everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D had been a colleague, and the Avengers were her team, and that was her entire social circle. 'Don’t shit where you eat,’ words of wisdom from her ex-partner.

“Captain America doesn’t want a girl like me,” she told him with just the right measure of self-deprecating humor to make it an easy letdown. Steve frowned and gripped her shoulders, held her firm so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I’m just Steve. And I want to give it a shot.”

“Rogers-”

“We have fun together, right? Blowing up Hydra bases, crashing Helicarriers, breaking into old army barracks. Good times. I’ll take you to play laser tag so you still get to shoot something.”

What the hell. After Clint, Steve was the person she trusted the most. And she’d be lying to herself if she said she’d never thought about it, just for a moment, in passing.

“One date,” she agreed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Don’t bring Agent Romanoff on my date,” Steve countered. “I want Natasha.”


	3. Thor/Jane Prompt: Turning On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor/Jane from the nsfw prompt list: #11 & 12, trying to/successfully turning the other on.

“Seven,” Jane breathed softly, and watched the meteor flash and streak across the desert sky before winking out.

She turned her head slightly to glance at Thor. He lay beside her on the blankets in the bed of the truck, dutifully staring up at the night sky to count shooting stars.

“Twelve,” he said with a wide grin, and lifted a muscled arm to point and trace his meteor’s progress. “I’m still winning.”

He rolled onto his side and leaned up on one elbow to beam at her. She looked quickly back at the stars overhead rather than meet his eyes.

She hadn’t been able to forego the old tradition, driving out to the middle of nowhere to watch the summer meteor shower. There was something bittersweet about it now, had been for years without her dad to share her enthusiasm. Darcy tagged along with beer and her iPod every year, but it wasn’t the same.

She had thought perhaps Thor could breathe new life into the tradition, make it happy again, but she hadn’t considered how insignificant a meteor shower must seem to the God of Thunder.

Shame and embarrassment kept her eyes fixed on the bright pinpricks of light overhead.

“Jane,” he said reproachfully, and traced his thumb gently over her cheek.

“You must be so bored,” she mumbled to the sky. Her insecurities always managed to find a voice around Thor. “You’ve seen the nine realms, traveled the Bifrost. This must seem like a stupid way to waste the night.”

“Why should I be bored? I’m winning.”

She propped herself up to mirror his position, lifted a skeptical eyebrow. Thor’s smile became soft.

“Jane, I am with you. How we spend our time together doesn’t matter. I’m happy.”

He raked a hand through her hair, pulled her in close, and kissed her in the soft, gentle way she loved. It sent a quiet little shiver through her, and Thor grinned against her lips.

“One can do any number of activities beneath the night sky,” he muttered. His hand trailed lower, ghosted across her ribs and down to settle on the curve of her hip.

She returned his smile and fell back again, eyes on the stars as he laid a trail of kissed down her neck and over her chest.


	4. Clint/Coulson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was something not-smutty for Clint/Coulson so naturally I killed someone, or went with the canon Avengers death in this case. Not my best I think but it's my first time doing this pairing. You also get bonus implied Steve/Bucky if you squint I guess.

Natasha stood stoically beside him, tears sliding slowly down her cheeks in that controlled way he had never been able to understand or master. 

He tried. God how he tried, but his chest seized up and he found his shoulders hunched around the handle of the umbrella he held. If his eyes strayed to the mud squelching under his polished dress shoes rather than focus on the polished casket being lowered in the rain, well, it was only because he didn’t want to embrace the end. 

Natasha cried for one of the first friends she’d made at S.H.I.E.L.D., for a member of her found family, for a colleague and handler and occasional backup in the field. Maybe that’s what the others thought he felt as well, because he hadn’t found the motivation to explain what he and Phil meant to each other. 

Natasha cried for her friend, but Clint cried for the solid, bracing hand on his shoulder after a mission gone wrong. He cried for the warmth of a shared quilt on cool winter nights, and early morning coffee-flavored kisses, and that stupid Thanksgiving tradition when Phil made them all hold hands and go around the table and say three things they were thankful for. (Phil always went first and stretched his list to five things, claiming guns and knives before Natasha could, because otherwise she’d cop out and she needed the extra prodding to discuss feelings, and Phil knew just when to push, how to hold them all together, and it was his effortless way of taking care of people that Clint loved about him.) 

It wasn’t Natasha who squeezed his shoulder, but Steve, standing on his left in the Captain America uniform Phil had been so proud to have a hand in designing. There had been a heavy weight behind the words in the chapel when Steve said _‘I’m sorry for your loss’,_ a haunted sorrowful gleam behind his eyes as he nestled the stack of signed trading cards into the casket and gave Clint a sad smile, and he thought that maybe Steve understood better than any of them, if the old stories about the Captain and Sergeant Barnes were true. 

Natasha looped her arm through his and leaned in close, and he realized her eyes weren’t fixed on the casket, either. She was looking clear through the minister, past the headstones and chapel to the opposite side of the graveyard, where a man in a black leather trench coat stood on the other side of the wrought iron fence. 

Director Fury whirled and seamlessly disappeared between the cars clustered along the drive, and there was something wrong about his presence, something calculating and out of place as he stared them down a moment too long before vanishing.


	5. Steve/Nat Prompt: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

"Natasha?"

The hand on her shoulder startles her more than the soft way he mumbles her name. She acts on instinct, flipping him onto the bed and straddling his hips and pressing her dagger into his throat.

Thunder rumbles and rattles the windows. She blinks and finds that it isn't a dagger, but the television remote she's grinding against his jugular.

"Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?" Steve asks, amusement dancing behind his eyes. He had _let_ her throw him onto the bed, probably helped her along by shifting his weight into the maneuver.

"I could still kill you with this," she warns, and clocks him softly on the forehead with the remote before tossing it on the nightstand. "And I'm not naked, Rogers."

She rolls off him, slides from the tangle of sheets to demonstrate the pair of maroon boxers she's stolen. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but Steve's dryer ran a particularly long cycle. He wasn't supposed to find her.

"Half naked," Steve amends. He goes over the opposite side of the bed, stands straight, and begins working the buttons of his flannel. He's damp, but not nearly as soaked as she was earlier.

Natasha averts her eyes and steps into the hallway to take her clothes out of the dryer. He's her new partner. She shouldn't blow S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fraternization policy two weeks in.

"It started raining," she calls in explanation. "I couldn't get a cab. You were closer than S.H.I.E.L.D."

She fails to mention that she'd been walking toward Steve's apartment anyway. She holds her tongue rather than tell him that she misses him, misses the intimacy of living in the Tower, moving in each other's space.

"Well, that's why I gave you the key," Steve says easily.

Apple-pie Captain America won't peek, but she opens one door of the laundry closet wide to block view of the hallway anyway as she exchanges his boxers for her own underwear and shimmies back into her jeans.

"Bra's still wet," he shouts at her from the bathroom. She hears him running water and banging through drawers, then the whir of his electric toothbrush. When did underwear hanging from towel bars stop throwing Steve off? More importantly, when did he become comfortable enough with her to paw all over said underwear?

She tugs her t-shirt on, then dumps one of the two baskets of dirty laundry into the washer and starts the cycle. Least she can do, after showing up unannounced.

"I was naked because you don't wash your clothes," she says. She perches on the end of the bed and meets his eyes in the bathroom mirror. "Everything smells like sweat and too much deodorant. There wasn't anything clean to borrow."

"Sorry," he mumbles with an unrepentant half-shrug. He spits into the sink and rinses and turns to lean against the counter. "So you're staying, right? You can't go back out in that."

He jerks a thumb to the window. She frowns and watches lighting flash, watches the rain drive against the glass.

"Wouldn't say no to your couch," she agrees. For a moment she thinks he'll argue, insist she take the bed instead, but he lets it go.

He doesn't ask what she was doing walking around D.C. in the rain, and she doesn't ask why he chose to take his bike out in a thunderstorm. She might not like the answer he gives, and maybe he would rather not know her reason for being out so late either.

"Grab a pillow," he offers, and she chooses the one that isn't pressed flat in the middle from him sleeping on it. She gives him a quick "Night, Cap," and makes it halfway down the hallway before he calls her back.

"Nat, what's _Alien_?"

Right, she'd also borrowed his Netflix account.

She hesitates, hugging his pillow against her chest, then turns on her heel and goes back to the bedroom. The idea flashes across her mind - _what if he's been out meeting a girl?_ \- but she pushes it away and drops back onto the bed. No laws against a little romantic competition, if that's the case.

"Start it over," she says, and makes herself comfortable leaning against the headboard. "Can't believe Tony and Clint didn't make you watch this one yet."


	6. FitzSimmons: A Kiss In The Rain

"Jemma!"

The hesitant shout and unfamiliar voice had her pausing despite the rain. The guy from Neurobiology was running to catch up with her, an identical black umbrella clutched in either hand.

"It's Jemma, right? Simmons? You left this in the lecture hall."

He offered one of the umbrellas, reconsidered, pulled his hand back and held out the other. She found herself smiling as they opened them.

"Thank you. It's Fitz, isn't it?" she said, and he beamed at her, pleased that she'd noticed him. Of course she'd noticed him. She'd had that silly little crush on him since the first day at the academy. "You sit two rows in front."

"Yeah, you can call me-sorry, trade. That one _is_ mine. I dripped a bit of acid on it in the lab, it's got a hole near the top."

They swapped umbrellas, and Jemma had the urge to ask what he wanted, but that would probably sound rude even though she was only curious, so she kept quiet.

"So...um...are you going to the lecture series tonight?"

He shuffled foot-to-foot as he asked, and didn't quite meet her eyes. She felt a little swoop of disappointment at the mention of the lecture series. Nobel Prize winners, C.E.R.N. scientists, _Stephen Hawking_.

"I was too late to register," she said, and tried to play it off, sound unconcerned, even though it had been killing her for the past week. "All the spaces were full."

"Would you...would you _like_ to go?" He reached into his jacket and drew out an admission ticket. "We don't have to sit together, our seats are together but I can switch with someone once we get in, I'm not good at the girl thing, is this creepy? It's probably creepy, I just heard you talking before class the other day and you sounded disappointed and I thought maybe it would be nice to have someone to discuss theoretical physics with during intermission and-"

She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she leaned in and pressed her lips quickly to his cheek. He stopped talking, and she plucked the ticket from his fingers with a shy little smile.

"It sounds wonderful, thank you, Fitz."


	7. Coulson/May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found this in my drafts on Tumblr. What is it? What's the context? Is it part of something bigger? I don't know, and I don't remember why I wrote it. You guys can have it. :3

“You’re a surprise,” May greeted him, not bothering to temper the shock in her tone as he stepped up the ramp to board the Quinjet. “What’s with the…whatever that is?”

She waved a hand vaguely at his torso.

Phil Coulson was not accustomed to feeling self-conscious, but with Melinda’s unamused gaze fixed on him, he had a strong urge to duck his head and find a nice dark corner to stand in.

“Tac suit didn’t fit. Had to piece one together.”

He tried to move past her to drop his duffle and find a seat, but she seamlessly intercepted him, arms crossed as she passed judgement.

“Is that Barton’s old Kevlar?”

“Maybe.”

“And the machete?”

“Romanoff. She said it’s better for throat slashing than the standard-issue knife.”

“You look ridiculous. More ridiculous than if you’d come in the suit and tie.”

But she stepped aside, and Coulson knew that was as close as he’d get to an acknowledged acceptance of his help.

They stowed their gear and buckled in side-by-side. A long defunct routine had resurfaced by the time the Quinjet lifted off the tarmac; May spread the mission dossier across their laps and Phil caught himself reaching for the bag at his feet to retrieve a protein bar. He broke it in two and passed May her half.

“Three outside contacts and a senior agent dead in the past two months,” he read, flipping through the photographs clipped to the inside of the folder. “The target’s an arms dealer. When did they get smart?”

“There’s a mole. One of ours is feeding him information. He’s cleaning house, making the move from AK47’s to nuclear interests.”

“Any idea who the mole is?”

“No. That’s why this is the only record of the mission.” She lifted the thick file and let it drop back into her lap. “Nothing on the S.H.I.E.L.D. servers or in the database. Fury dismissed my whole team, found them separate assignments. You’re the only one I trust to back me up.”

The declaration surprised him. He’d been stuck behind a desk for weeks, out of the field for months and months. His reflexes were slow and he hadn’t been visiting the shooting range as often as he should. Melinda was nothing if not practical, and pulling him for a mission wasn’t the sort of logic he’d come to expect from her.

“I needed you on this,” she continued. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it, with Barton dragging home strays. You’ve got to be up to your ass in paperwork. So thanks.”

“We’re partners,” he said, feeling a little guilty that he’d given her reason to doubt him. “I wouldn’t let you walk into this alone.”


End file.
